Bonjour, my miserable(s) friends! Hi! :3 I'm still alive, I swear. Here, have an update. It's stupid, meaningless fluff. Don't worry. Things get all angsty soon enough.
XXX
I'm Lysette, was the first thought that entered her mind she awoke. Jamie doesn't exist anymore. She's from another world. Goodbye, Jamie. Lysette frowned at the intense thoughts, willing herself to go back to Jamie. She wouldn't be staying in 1832 forever. She would wake up and rocket back to her unhappy 21st century existence, left with bitter longings and crazy memories. She would forget about it eventually, and go back to scolding mothers and absentee fathers. It would all seem like a weird dream. Don't get attached, Jamie, Lysette thought. It's probably best if you leave now.
Lysette, The Voice whispered in her head. Do not leave.
She was relieved to hear the now-familiar Voice. It always brought guidance. Why shouldn't I leave? she thought. I'll just go back to my own time sooner or later. I don't want to form attachments and then be miserable when I go home.
No, you will not be returning to your own time soon. Form those attachments. You still have much to see, learn, and do. You are here for a reason. Did I not say you would meet your fate? This is the last time I will speak to you, Lysette, so take my words seriously and listen very carefully. Remember them; use them. Stay by your friends to the very end. And in this "end," you will know what to do. Trust yourself on this. Know your enemies, and do not fall in with the Patron-Minette or any of the other foul men that will seek to tempt you. Protect your friends and they will protect you. Both parties will need trust and love. Goodbye, Lysette.
Wait! she thought frantically. Don't go! I-I need help! Please!
There was a silence in Lysette's head. The Voice had departed. She was confused and angry, but had to put that aside when she smelled food. Hunger won out, and she peeled her cheek from the table and stumbled into the front room of the Musain, where the Amis were sitting around tables and eating. Lysette's stomach all but convulsed. On chipped plates were piles of meat and bread and cheese, with glasses of water beside them.
"Lysette!" Bahorel called in a voice too loud for the morning. "We've ordered you some food! Come! Eat!"
Feuilly pulled his cap down lower over his ears and glared up at his friend. "Shh!" he grumbled. "Honestly, Bahorel. It's naught but eight and you're shouting. Give us some peace."
Lysette staggered over to the table where Bahorel was sitting and began to dig into the food like a starving jackal. She hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours, and it was certainly showing. After gnawing at the bread and downing the meat and cheese in one go, she felt better. Four glasses of water later, her parched tongue wasn't sandpaper-heavy, and she felt clearheaded.
Bahorel roared with laughter. "Well, well!" he chuckled loudly. "Were you hungry, then, 'Sette?"
She grinned and shrugged, looking around. Combeferre was sitting next to Enjolras, reading a book and turning the pages with a soft, content smile on his face. Enjolras was scribbling something on a piece of parchment with scary intensity and sneaking uncomfortable looks at Grantaire now and again. Courfeyrac was whispering things to Jehan, and Musichetta and Joly were fussing over some scrape that Bossuet had gotten himself into. Rolande and Marius were looking at a book together, discussing it quietly.
And Grantaire?
He was sitting at a table alone, staring at the wooden whorls with the same intensity that Enjolras was applying to his notes.
Lysette hazarded a guess that neither of them had talked about what had happened last night. She picked at a seam on her threadbare coat, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Guessing that she wouldn't be getting a shower anytime soon, her thin shoulders slumped.
"Lysette?" The softly asked question came from Combeferre. "Child, do you have a home? Or a family to take care of you? Not to make you uncomfortable, but we know next to nothing about you."
Oh, boy. More lies. "I don't have a home or a family," she answered. At least that part was honest. "My father is…gone. He left when I was two. My mother is…back in America." Still honest, even if she was leaving more than a few details out.
"You're from America?" Feuilly questioned curiously. "What is it like?"
Oh, crap. How do I tell them about America? What was nineteenth century-era America like? Think, Lysette. "It's…uh…very similar in some ways. There are horses and carts and coaches. The poor are pretty much separated from the rich. We're…discovering a lot of stuff right now. Inventing new things." There. That's…kind of true, right? Dear God, please don't let them ask what kinds of things we're inventing.
"Is it sanitary?" Joly wondered, holding his little notebook in front of him.
Great. One wrong word and he'll have a panic attack! Lysette mentally growled. Still, though, she was done lying. Especially if these boys were to be her new friends. "Well…kind of. There are medical colleges; those are really sanitary. And in most people's houses, things are pretty clean. It's like Paris. There are dirty people and clean people and…stuff."
"How are the girls?" Grantaire grinned cheekily, flashing a saucy wink towards Musichetta. She chuckled and swatted him with a dish towel that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.
"They're hideous. Their skin is purple and they have warts all over their faces," Lysette deadpanned.
Grantaire visibly paled.
Lysette laughed. "I'm joking! Besides, aren't you actually ga–?" She suddenly had a coughing fit that certainly had nothing to do with the acidic look Enjolras sent her way. Her totally-not-fake coughing dissolved into real coughing and hacking after a few moments, she ended up half-choking.
Joly was up and out of his seat before Lysette could blink. He picked her up bridal style and laid her out on one of the tables, gripping her chin and forcing her mouth open. He looked around. "No blood," he muttered. "You don't appear to have any signs of consumption, but it's always a possibility." He yanked her head to the side and inspected her neck for an uncomfortable amount of time. "I'm going to make a rather small incision in your arm, Lysette," Joly explained. "This will let the diseased blood out of your bloodstream."
"I'm not sick!" Lysette screamed hoarsely. She yanked her arm away and stumbled off the table. "It's just a cough!" Oh, God. Oh, God. Blood. Okay, please don't let there be any blood. I'm terrified of blood, she thought, on the verge of having a full-blown freak out.
Joly tried to grab her arm back. "Lysette! I understand that it's frightening, but you've got a deadly disease! You probably have only a few days left to live, if not hours!"
"I'M FINE!" Lysette roared.
There was a silence in the Musain. Joly looked as if he might faint. "Look, I'm sorry for shouting at you, Joly. I just…really don't like blood," Lysette explained. "You know disease horrifies you? That's what blood does to me."
Bahorel broke the tenseness with a belting laugh. "Little 'Sette is scared of blood," he chuckled. "A well-seasoned American gamin afraid of a bit of blood."
"Hey – I resent that," Lysette growled. "Besides, I've been through more in the last day than you've probably been through in a year!"
Bahorel scooped her up and sat her on a rather high windowsill. Lysette noticed that everyone did a lot of scooping people up in this time period.
"Alright, then, 'Sette. Tell me what you've been through in the last day," Bahorel said, challenge in his eyes.
Oh, nothing much. Just got in a terrible fight with my mom, got shot back in time, super gross clothing appeared on my body, almost got killed by Montparnasse, got called a whore twice, everyone thought I was a prostitute, didn't eat for twenty-four hours and, oh yeah! Joly almost got his blood letting practice for the day out on my arm! How much of that could she really say? "Some jerk named Montparnasse almost killed me," she announced triumphantly.
"Wait a minute…" Marius said, finally looking up from where he and Rolande had been reading. "Did you just say…Montparnasse?" A dark look crossed his eyes.
"Uh-huh."
"Ugh," Marius growled. "My good friend Eponine is involved with him. He's not healthy for her; I've told her one hundred times! He's an utter coward! Verbally abusive to her, and he thinks the world of himself."
"Yeah, well he called me a whore…twice. And he asked me to join his gang and then almost killed me. Not to mention the fact that he was…" I don't think they would understand the word 'flirting' in this time period. "Uh…making suggestive…suggestions the whole time."
"That bastard!" Bahorel snarled, clenching his fists. "That pretty-boy bastard! Take me to him, 'Sette! I'll beat him until he's a bloody mess! I'll –" He stopped.
Lysette had begun to go pale around the ears at the mention of a "bloody mess." "It's fine," she said. "I did kick him in shin and say a few things I probably shouldn't have. So…I think we're even. Sorta. I'd just like to forget about it."
Bahorel frowned, but nodded grudgingly, his friendly competition forgotten.
Jehan smiled nervously. "Let's go on to a different subject. Do tell us more about America, Lysette. Is it romantic?" he asked dreamily.
"Sure," Lysette answered. "I mean, as romantic as any place can be. Paris is more romantic, I'd think. You know. Parisian sunsets and Eiffel Tower kisses and all that."
Jehan looked confused. "What is the Eiffel Tower?" he asked.
"What do you mean? It's –" Lysette stopped. The Eiffel Tower hasn't been built yet, stupid. It won't be built for another – what? Ugh. Whatever. I'm horrible at math! It won't be built 'till everyone here is dead or really old! "It's nothing. Just a big tower in…America." And there's the lie.
"I thought you were talking about Paris when you –" Marius began.
"Okay!" Lysette interrupted. "I have many more facts about America!"
They spent the next thirty minutes grilling Lysette on any and every detail about America. From the most popular authors to the separation of the rich and the poor, she improvised and told little white lies, feeling bad but sort of bemused at the same time. Eventually, nine-thirty rolled around.
The Amis slowly trickled out of the Musain with various places they needed to go. At last, it was just Bahorel and Lysette left. "Well, I've missed my two classes of the day," Bahorel said merrily. "I suppose another skipped day won't kill me. Little 'Sette, there's something I've been meaning to ask you: do you have home?"
"Uh…no," Lysette answered. "I guess I don't. It's fine, though. I can probably find Gavroche, right? Doesn't he have a place for his kids to live? He said something about an elephant, yeah?"
Bahorel considered for a moment. "Lysette, what would you say about living with me? I'm a poor man, but I have enough means to get by. You're a skinny thing; can't each much, can you? I suppose I might be able to find you a decent set of clothes. You could come to the meetings with me. Ah, let's see…I only have one bed, but I'd gladly occupy my chair. Honestly, it's much more comfortable. Well?"
Lysette smiled, touched by Bahorel's kindness. I haven't known him for two days and he invites me to live with him. Wow. "I'd love that," she answered honestly. "Thank you. Thanks…so much."
"Think nothing of it!" Bahorel said with his grin that was really more like a bearing of teeth. "One problem – the landlady of the flat where I live…she's an old bat. Quite judgmental and can't keep her gossip-loving mouth shut. She'd think something was quite off if a little green-headed girl came to live with me with no explanation whatsoever. I'm still not quite sure how you got your hair that appalling color, but no matter. I don't think anything can be done about it, right?"
Lysette nodded.
"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we cross it. Anyhow, the story is this: you're my younger sister. Your name is Lysette Bahorel, not Lysette Montulet."
"Bahorel is your last name?!" Lysette said.
"Yes. No one in this group goes by first name. Did you honestly think a set of parents would be so odd as to name their son Feuilly? Or Combeferre? Their names are Masselin Feuilly and Étienne Combeferre. Honestly, Lysette." He shook his head and chuckled. "More names to come later, child. Let's go home…soeur." He grinned.
"Alright then…frère," Lysette returned with a smile. On a whim, she took his (admittedly giant) hand in hers and the two exited the Café Musain.